FLINT ROUNDED Victoria and settled himself against her legs, closing his eyes. Oh, to be a dog. Life would only gloriously consist of food, sleep and occasional trysts with no attachments.
Victoria shifted toward the rectangular object Remington had left on the bed, reached out and dragged it over toward where she lay. She carefully unfolded the lace cloth and blinked down at an unbound copy of a book. And not just any book, but The Fortunes and Misfortunes of the Famous Moll Flanders by Daniel Defoe.
Tears stung her eyes.
It was the only book by Defoe she’d never read. Even after all these years. She had once pestered Grayson for a whole eight weeks, desperately trying to acquire it, only to be denied due to its scandalous content. And yet…Remington had somehow remembered that. He had remembered who she had once been, while she herself had completely forgotten. How was that possible?
A tear trickled down her cheek. She swiped it away with the shaky tips of her fingers. When she was seventeen, she had wanted to travel the world and see all of the cities she had read about in the books Mrs. Lambert always piled before her. Cities like Madrid, Warsaw, Saint Petersburg, Cape Town, Paris, New York and…Venice. Venice above all others, for she had wanted to visit the plain and see all the trees Remington had carved with her name, and wanted to ride in a gondola all day watching the entire city float by.
When she was seventeen, she wanted to be eighteen, so she could be Remington’s wife and a mother to his children who would all have eyes as blue as his. More than anything she had wanted to surround herself with the joys of having a family again. Her own family. The sort of family that she had once had before tragedy after tragedy had taken it away.
Victoria gathered the unbound book Remington had given her, hugging it lovingly to her chest, and lowered herself back onto the pillow. Her life was slowly edging away from youth, and what had she done with it thus far?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was the first time in her life she was disappointed with herself as a human being. If she continued down this path of pushing everyone away, including Remington, she knew she would be destroying the last of who she really was.
SCANDAL TWELVE
Some women are content to leave their characters un formed. Sadly, those are the same women who eventually suffer from the shattering of fortitude. As a result, these women are unable to function in the manner society expects them to. Which is why a lady should never leave herself unformed.
How To Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown
Eighteen days later, evening
On a private chartered steamship en route to
Venice
SHE HAD TO make this trip twice? Oh, dearest God, no. She’d rather stay in Venice for the rest of her life.
Victoria staggered alongside Remington, allowing him to guide her toward the bolted bed in the cabin. The glass lanterns swayed and creaked in slow, steady motions, shifting golden light across the wooden boards beneath her traveling boots. Falling away from Remington’s hands, she flopped onto the unevenly stuffed mattress, her cobalt gown spreading around her. She swallowed the remaining spicy, fibrous bits of ginger in her mouth, waiting for it to fade her nausea. Though she now lay still, the world continued to sway back and forth, back and forth.
Vomiting every hour throughout their voyage at sea had not been the grand adventure she had envisioned. But at least Remington wasn’t taking advantage of her delirium. For some reason, the man hadn’t even bothered with a single advance, aside from friendly pats and hand-holding.
She actually preferred their association to remain civil and simple. It allowed her to focus on getting to know him again, instead of focusing on what he did or did not expect of her as a woman. Though he was notably more serious than the Remington she’d once known, there was an alluring maturity and purpose in everything he said that was rather inspiring.
The boat lurched and nausea rolled through her gut and chest again. She squeezed her eyes shut and fisted the coverlet on the bed, fighting it. “I would have made quite the sailor,” she grumbled. “They would have tied me to the side of the railing just to keep the ship clean.”
Remington sat beside her, his trouser-clad thigh resting against her back. He rubbed her shoulder affectionately. “The first journey is always the worst. Do you require more ginger before I go on deck for air?”
“Land. I require land.”
He chuckled. “We arrive in Venice tomorrow morning.”
“I believe I will kiss every single stone I see out of pure joy.” She opened her eyes and rolled back toward him. She paused, searching his shadowed face, which observed her in the swaying, dim light of the lanterns.
The dark circles beneath those handsome blue eyes were hauntingly more noticeable than they had been in recent days. They etched into his cheekbones and the tone of his olive skin. And though his voice and mannerisms throughout their voyage never once eluded to it, his features looked increasingly frayed. As if there was something physically wrong with him.
She swallowed at the thought. “Are you…unwell?”
“Aside from constantly worrying about you, I am very well. Thank you. Why?”
She drew her brows together. “The darkness circling your eyes makes you appear quite ill.”
He snorted. “I am not ill, I assure you.”
“Is it…exhaustion, then?” She blinked, trying to remember when she’d last seen him sleep. She blinked again. Why was it she couldn’t remember him ever sleeping beside her? “I am always asleep long before you ever come into bed, and yet you are always up long before I wake. When do you sleep?”
He shrugged. “I lie beside you every night.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
He shrugged again. “Here and there. I sleep.”
“It mustn’t be very long. I know I have yet to see you dress or undress, and our cabin is anything but large.”
He lifted a dark brow, his hand sliding up the corseted waist of her traveling gown. “I didn’t realize you had an interest in watching me dress and undress. Do you?”
She groaned and swatted at him. “You exaggerate my point. I am merely expressing my concern. You look a bit ragged. Exhausted. Are you not sleeping?”
He pointed to himself. “You are expressing concern? For me?” He lowered his chin. “Shall I fall upon my knees and thank the Lord for finally gifting you with an ounce of compassion for Captain Blue Eyes?”
He was making a theatrical out of this. “Have you seen yourself in a mirror?”
“Every morning while I shave.”
“And you are not concerned with what you see?”
He smiled, that adorable dimple appearing on his shaven cheek. “You love me. Admit it. You have never stopped loving me.”
She glared at him. “You are avoiding my question. Are you sleeping or not?”
His smiled faded. He shifted against the bed. “I admit to being restless. I am still adjusting to a life outside of the one I had led in service. I had endless amount of duties that rarely allowed much sleep.”
“So you aren’t sleeping?”
“I am. But only two to three hours at a time.”
How on earth could she not have noticed he was sleeping so little? A more self-absorbed witch she’d never known. In an effort to distance herself from him, she had also overstepped her bounds as a human being. Dear God. This could not go on.
“Come.” She gently patted the space beside her. “I will ensure you sleep. Lie beside me.”
He shook his head. “A dose of sea air is all I require.”
“You require sleep. Now lie down.”
“Sleep does not come to me that way. I require air first.”
She sighed. “Then take in your air and return to me at once. I will not have you evading the rest you require.”
“You worry needlessly.”
“Someone has to worry.” She jabbed him. “Fifteen minutes on deck. No more. Or I will find you and drench
you in vomit. Which you know I am more than good for.”
He rumbled out a laugh. “Yes, bella. Are you certain you don’t want anything before I leave?”
Even though she was feeling much better, thanks to the ginger, she became an actress and rolled away onto her side, groaning. “Land. Sweet land.”
“And you will get it. Tomorrow morning. I vow.” He was quiet for a moment. “Your concern is endearing.”
He leaned in and kissed her cheek, his lips surprisingly cool. He lingered, the scent of wine and fresh sea air drifting from his skin. He kissed her cheek again. Only this time, his hand skimmed the length of her skirts, from knee to waist and waist to knee and back again.
Victoria drew in a shaky breath, the frantic pounding of her heart making it almost impossible to endure. His touch and his lips upon her cheek made her drift back to a time she never could seem to escape. Even after all these years, she could still remember the way his hot, wet tongue had ardently touched and circled hers in the quiet darkness while she stood at the foot of the stairwell in her home at Bath. Here she was, two and twenty, and it was still the only kiss she had ever known.
Would it be the same?
Could it be the same?
She didn’t know if it was the sea air or the swaying of the ship or her weak constitution, but she desperately wanted his lips on more than her cheek. She wanted them on her own lips.
Victoria shifted back toward him, causing him to lift his dark head from her cheek.
He smiled and patted her hip. “I should go.”
“No,” she murmured, reaching out for his arm and dragging him closer. “Stay.”
“I will only be gone for a short while.”
“Kiss me. On the lips. Like we did that night. Will you?”
His shaven jaw tightened, shifting the muscles visibly. He searched her face. “No.”
She stared up at him in disbelief. “No? I… Is there a stench I am emitting? Or is it the fact that I am more beige than attractive?”
He leaned toward her and cupped the side of her face with a large, warm hand. “There is no stench. And though you are indeed beige, that is not why I am denying you.”
She focused on him, his hand and his words. “Then what is it? Am I not treating you well enough? I…I have been trying to be kinder to you. Believe me, I have.”
He slid his thumb across her lips. His eyes trailed the movement. “You are treating me exceptionally well compared to when we were back in London, and for that I thank you. But that is not enough for me. As you know, I am foolishly sentimental and will admit that the last time these lips had ever touched another’s, I was nineteen. It is the only kiss I ever wish to know.”
Her breath hitched. “You mean…you never kissed anyone after you kissed me that night? Not even your marchesa?”
He tilted his head to better observe her, causing strands of dark hair to slip across his forehead. “Not her. Not anyone. Though I became her lover, I bound her to one simple rule she willingly granted. That my mouth never touch hers. It made our physical interactions…interesting, but it was the only way I could honor myself, knowing what I was submitting to. I wanted you to be the only one to have that part of me.”
Victoria swallowed, the erratic beat of her heart fluttering to her throat. He had wanted to save himself for her? It was… “Oh, Remington,” she breathed out. “Am I allowed to say that is the most romantic thing I have ever heard of?”
He slid his hand away and sat back. “You are allowed to say it if you mean it. But I will admit there was nothing romantic about bedding one woman whilst always wanting and thinking and yearning for another.” He sighed. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must take in my air.”
“No. No, you can’t.” She struggled to sit up, but the room swayed again, reminding her that she was not in control of her body. She sank down against the mattress again and caught his arm. “Remington.”
“Jonathan,” he corrected.
“Jonathan,” she offered.
“Yes? What is it?”
She shifted her hand toward the lapel of his traveling coat and yanked him down toward her, willing him to stay. “You cannot tell me such things and then leave me to my own thoughts in this creaky cabin.”
He gently pried her fingers from his coat and laid her hand back to her side. “I fear the sea is overtaking the last of your senses.”
Perhaps it was. She couldn’t explain it, but it was as if his words had revived a small part of herself that had been buried all these years. “I want you to kiss me. Please.”
He stared at her. “You want me to kiss you?”
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“Yes. Now.”
He grinned, clearly reveling in his newfound glory as a man. “Whilst I am endlessly flattered, it is with much regret that I must still deny you.”
“You still intend to deny me?” she echoed.
“Yes.”
“Of a kiss?”
“Yes.”
“I do believe I must have heaved out my brain over the side of this ship and misunderstood. Are you not the same man who made us pleasure ourselves in a carriage whilst rolling through London? What is this? Do you wish to punish me for the way I have been treating you?”
“A real man does not punish the woman he loves. Not under any circumstance.” He leaned over her and placed both hands against the headboard above her, his wide chest blocking her view of the cabin.
She sucked in a breath and gawked up at him, eyeing his mouth. “By denying me, I assure you, you are, in fact, punishing me.”
“No. By denying you, I am ensuring neither of us gets hurt.” He drew in a ragged breath and stared down at her, his blue eyes observing her. “I will not permit you to taint the memory of our kiss and then walk away. When you kiss me, Victoria, it will only be because you have decided to spend the rest of your life with me. I will not settle for less. Not when it comes to us. I can assure you, not touching you has been… beyond torturous. All I have been wanting to do ever since we’ve been wed is—”
He shifted, throwing a muscled, trouser-clad leg over her, and slid his lower half down her lower half, rubbing his erection and hard body against her. “This.” He lowered both his gaze and his hands to her breasts, skimming his fingers along the edges of her neckline and the curves of her breasts hidden beneath. “And this.”
She gasped and slid her hands down his solid chest toward his waist hidden beneath his coat. She yanked his shirt from his trousers and slid her hands against his warm, smooth skin, savoring the feel of him.
He sucked in a breath and repositioned himself above her again, setting both of his hands above her shoulders, and stared her down, as if trying to penetrate her soul. “No,” he rasped.
Her heart pounded. “No?”
His chest rose and fell in heavy takes. “I will not kiss you or bed you until you are mine. When you are mine—the way you used to be—I will kiss you and you will kiss me.”
He pushed himself away and slowly stood. Shoving his shirt back into his trousers, he cleared his throat and adjusted his waistcoat. “I will return in fifteen minutes.” Striding toward the cabin door, he opened it, stepped out and shut it behind him.
Victoria lifted a heavy, wobbly hand straight into the air above her and then let it drop onto the mattress beside her where Remington—or rather Jonathan—should have been. He wasn’t even going to let them kiss. Not until she announced she was his.
The man truly was not of this earth.
Though it shouldn’t have surprised her. Such an ultimatum was exactly the sort of thing a man who once believed in magic rings would issue. Damn him and damn herself. Was it possible she was wrong in denying him an opportunity to heal whatever remained of her soul? Was it possible she had been wrong all along about her understanding of him, of love, of life?
Yes. Yes, it was very possible. And Remington, her dear Remington, was beginning to illuminate those dark corners of her life yet again.
Just as he had once upon a time when she was seventeen.
JONATHAN HADN’T quite made it up on deck. Hell, not even past the cabin door. He continued to lean against the wall of the ship’s narrow passageway, standing opposite the closed door that separated him from Victoria. The boards against his back and beneath his boots creaked as the kerosene lamps hanging from the low ceiling swayed, shifting sparse light.
He was bloody deranged to deny her what he wanted most. But he refused to kiss her or consummate their marriage until he felt it would mean something to her. He sensed her softening, little by little, but it was not enough, and he refused to settle for anything less than her heart. Especially after the life he had led all these years. He was not going to bed Victoria only to discover it had earned him nothing but the same goddamn thing the Casacalendas had offered him—money at the price of his worth and his pride.
Nonetheless…it was endearing to know that his Victoria appeared to be concerned about him. She had actually noticed he hadn’t been sleeping very much, despite him trying to hide it from her. The schedule he had kept as cicisbeo and all its never-ending duties—not even including the sex—had stayed with him. He knew it would take time before that life completely faded away, and it still weighed upon him in many ways, but the last thing he wanted was to burden Victoria with his problems. Not when she still shouldered so many of her own.
Knowing he had about ten minutes that needed to be spoken for—for he had no desire to go on deck or rush into a room that had a bed he was trying to avoid—he reached into his coat pocket and yanked out Victoria’s little book, How To Avoid a Scandal. A book he had vowed to read in honor of not only the earl who had given him the incredible opportunity to be Victoria’s husband, but in honor of Victoria herself.
Jonathan flipped to the page he’d last been reading and smirked. All and all it was an intelligent book. Witty and even amusing. It encompassed the epitome of what every man wanted from his wife. A loving, doting, dutiful, yet not by any means mindless woman. Mindless—he knew Victoria was anything but. Whilst loving, doting and dutiful? Well…he had two weeks.
Once Upon a Scandal Page 17
